


bedside manner

by cioccolatasslut



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, Egg Laying, Extremely Dubious Consent, Hand Jobs, Medical Inaccuracies, Medical Kink, Other, Oviposition, Sadism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-29 19:53:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19837393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cioccolatasslut/pseuds/cioccolatasslut
Summary: In which Lucio experiences the miracle of life first-hand, and Valdemar is a terrible obstetrician.





	bedside manner

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Click Here for Monster Fucking](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15859296) by [1V1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/1V1/pseuds/1V1). 



> Inspired by the chapter "Treatment" of 1V1's "Click Here for Monster Fucking." I wanted to see the egg-laying scene so they gave me permission to write it. Heed the tags.

“Well, Count,” Valdemar croons, running their hands over his distended abdomen. “You’ve been a lovely host for me, but I think my eggs have incubated long enough.”

Lucio’s eyes are closed tightly, trying to block out the Quaestor’s voice. He’s grown accustomed to this - Valdemar has insisted on seeing him for daily “check-ups” during the incubation period. He takes slow, intentional breaths, trying to relax as much as he can.

He doesn’t watch as they turn away, so he’s startled when he feels a sharp pain in his upper arm. His eyes fly open to see Valdemar retracting a syringe. Their mask is on, but he’s sure they’re smiling cruelly at him.

“Wh-what was that?” he demands. He’d tried to sound intimidating, but it only sounds frantic. 

“A muscle stimulant. It will induce intestinal contractions to force the eggs out,” they reply, not bothering to sugar-coat it. Lucio closes his eyes again, wishing at least he could be in the comfort of his own room while he had to endure this. Soon enough, he feels a cramping pressure in his gut, as though he’s eaten something disagreeable. Valdemar presses their hand against his taut skin, sighing a little when they feel the muscles contract under their palm.  
“Very good. The process has started. Let’s get you comfortable, hm?” 

Lucio bites back a remark on their “bedside manner,” letting them rearrange his limbs as they see fit. They click a pair of stirrups into place and maneuver his legs into them. Then they pull up a chair and settle between his legs, watching him intently as he tries desperately not to writhe on the table. Sweat is already beading on his forehead as his insides contract. He feels as though a knife has been plunged into his gut. 

“The process should not take very long. Much faster than a normal human birth,” Valdemar informs him, as though that’s supposed to comfort him. They dip their fingers into a jar of lubricant and press them against his hole. He grits his teeth as they press in, probing deep inside him. He can’t help but groan as the worst pain yet rips through him and he feels an overwhelming urge to push. He bears down, Valdemar’s fingers still inside him. 

“Ah, I see you’re progressing quite well,” they say, retracting their fingers. “Keep pushing.” 

Lucio isn’t listening to them; he grips at the sides of the table and curls up to pant and strain. He only barely notices Valdemar reaching for the lubricant again until they wrap a gloved hand around his flaccid dick. 

“Wh-” 

“The pleasure of stimulation will help with the pain,” Valdemar explains as they stroke him. He moans brokenly, too exhausted to fight back. They continue to jack him off as he pushes, feeling the eggs shift lower and lower inside him. He _keens_ when the first egg presses against his prostate. 

“That’s it, Count. I told you it would be pleasurable, did I not?” Valdemar says, sounding a little breathless themselves. Lucio’s face is flushed; he feels more humiliated than he can remember ever feeling. He pushes again and gasps when the first egg presses insistently at his opening and then pops out in a gush of slick. Valdemar lets go of him to pick it up, holding it up to the dim light to examine it. 

“Excellent. Very good,” they praise. Lucio has little respite before the next egg is pressing against his insides. Valdemar takes his now-erect dick in hand again, keeping up a litany of brutal encouragements as he huffs and moans and strains. He can feel himself quickly exhausting. 

“I can’t,” he says weakly, turning his head to press his cheek against the cool metal of the table. Valdemar tuts at him. 

“Now, Count. You’re nearly there.”

He feels considerably emptier, and he clings to the promise that the end is just around the corner. _Finally_ the last egg slips free, and Valdemar curls two fingers into him, nudging his prostate as they keep stroking his dick, and he comes with a weak shout. He shakes on the table, overstimulated and sweaty, nearly on the verge of tears. Valdemar stands to move the container of eggs elsewhere and returns with a cool, damp cloth, pressing it against Lucio’s forehead in a bastardization of tenderness.

“I’ll keep you here to monitor you - your symptoms appear to be improving, though I cannot be certain until you’ve recovered from the treatment. If I determine you need further treatment, well…” 

They pull down their mask to give him a sharp-toothed smile. 

“I doubt you’ll object.”


End file.
